Bartleby the Scrivener: A Tale of Wall Street

132 THE PIAZZA TALES
handed the negro a little cup of aromatic waters, with
which at intervals he chafed his master's brow ; smooth-
ing the hair along the temples as a nurse does a child's.
,He spoke no word. He only rested his eye on his
'
master's, J
as if, amid all Don Benito's distress, a little
to refresh his spirit by the silent sight of fidelity.
Presently the ship's bell sounded two o'clock ; and
through the cabin windows a slight rippling
was discerned ;
and from the desired direction.
1
'
There,' exclaimed Captain Delano,
'
Don Benito, look !
of the sea
I told you so,
He had risen to his feet, speaking in a verj? animated
tone, with a view the more to rouse his companion.
the crimson curtain of the stern window
But though
near him that moment fluttered against his pale cheek,
Don Benito seemed to have even less welcome for the
breeze than the calm.
Poor fellow, thought Captain Delano, bitter experience
has taught him that one ripple does not make a wind,
any more than one swallow a summer. But he is mistaken
for once. I will get his ship in for him, and
prove it.
Briefly alluding to his weak condition, he urged his
host to remain quietly where he was, since he (Captain
Delano) would with pleasure take upon himself the
responsibility of making the best use of the wind.
Upon gaining the deck, Captain Delano started at the
unexpected figure of Atufal, monumentally fixed at the
threshold, like one of those sculptured porters of black
marble guarding the porches of Egyptian tombs.
But this time the start was, perhaps, purely physical.
Atufal's presence, singularly attesting docility even in
sullenness, was contrasted with that of the hatchet-
polishers, who in patience evinced their industry ;
while
both spectacles showed, that lax as Don Benito's general